


Just Add Petrol

by mister_otter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, HP: EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 18:15:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12776658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mister_otter/pseuds/mister_otter
Summary: It's Christmas time during 8th year, and Hermione is less happy than she'd hoped. Draco thinks he has a perfect solution for making her holiday special.





	Just Add Petrol

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks, love, and prezzies of all sorts to my perfect beta and friend, eilonwy!  
> So honored to be nominated to write for the Advent this year! What fun, thanks so much!! My prompt was 'artificial trees.'

The Prefects’ meeting room was deadly quiet, the only sound the hiss of sleet being flung against the windows by a determined, late November snowstorm. 

Twenty-six pairs of eyes were fixed on the front of the meeting room. Twenty-six mouths hung open in awe, breaths held, waiting in expectation for a showdown that had been brewing since early autumn. 

Ophelia Hussey, Head Girl, had just dared to insult Hermione Granger, war heroine and female prefect for the small group of students officially designated as 8th Years. 

“You think,” Ophelia was saying, with a snippety toss of her dark hair, “that your past _status_ grants you the right to waltz back to Hogwarts and decide for the rest of us how things will be done this year.” Her voice was low, cool, and arrogant. “Maybe it’s high time someone reminded you that you are not Head Girl. I am. Maybe it’s also time someone reminded you that you will never be Head Girl. Because that responsibility is an honor reserved for 7th years. Not for hangers-on whose time at Hogwarts has actually passed.”

Gasps and murmurs ran around the room, and even Leo Wilden, Head Boy and Ophelia’s current love interest, reached up from his seat to tug at her sleeve. “Calm down, Fee,” he hissed.

Hermione stood in the center of the room, hands clasped behind her back to keep them from shaking. Her proposal, one she felt most strongly about, was being shot down in flames by someone who seemed to despise her for no other reason than her actual presence here at the school. Just like every other proposal she’d made as prefect, since the term started. 

“Could we at least bring it to a vote?” Hermione asked. Chin up, voice clear. She wasn’t giving in as easily as Ophelia-the-Bitch would wish.

The Head Girl looked around the room of seated Prefects with a small, smug smile. “Of course,” she replied. “All in favor of Hermione Granger’s proposal that we _not_ decorate the Great Hall with the usual dozen live Christmas trees this year, that we break with a centuries-old Hogwarts tradition and substitute something _artificial,_ fake, and unnatural instead, please say ‘Aye.’”

Ophelia waited, arms folded, robes hanging open over her tight sweater and shorter-than-regulation Slytherin skirt. She crossed one sleek, black boot over the other and smirked into the silence. “Speak up, please. Anyone interested in Hermione Granger’s plan? Anyone at all?”

A sudden commotion at the back of the room as Draco Malfoy, male Prefect for the 8th Years, shoved back his chair. He stood, cupping his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Aye!”

All heads turned, all eyes focused on him. “Is there a reason you’re all staring, other than my stellar looks?” He grinned. “I think Granger’s idea has merit.” His eyes met Hermione’s across the room. 

Ophelia glared. “What would a bloody Malfoy know about ideas that have merit?” she barked. 

An echo of “ooohh” ran around the room. 

“At least as much as a Hussey. Probably even more,” he replied as snickers broke out here and there. Everyone knew Ophelia had thrown herself at Draco all autumn, to absolutely no avail. She’d only got together with Leo after Draco had turned her down cold.

“Hear me out,” he continued. “We’re in a new era, one that calls for new traditions. Why not go with Granger’s plan of leaving the trees in the forest, where they belong?”

Hermione, momentarily shocked into silence by Draco’s unexpected support, wasted no time in wading back into the fray. 

“Remember what I said earlier.” She looked around at her fellow prefects, trying to catch and hold as many pairs of eyes as possible. “We could do other things to celebrate the season. Decorate the trees out in the forest where they grow, then gather ‘round them for carols and hot chocolate! Have team contests to deck the Great Hall using only our magical skills. Nothing has to be artificial or unnatural…”

“We’ve been over this already, Hermione,” Ophelia interrupted with a bored sigh. “As Head Students, Leo and I don’t like the direction you want to go. Or your attitude. We need our traditions, now that the war is over. I think all of our prefects agree with me.” She unfolded her arms. “Once more— all in favor of Hermione’s plan to do away with using live Christmas trees for the Great Hall?”

Silence. It stretched on and on, unbroken, uninterrupted.

“And there you have it.” Brushing at an imaginary speck of dust on her Head Girl badge, Ophelia glanced at Hermione with a victorious smile. “Meeting adjourned until next week.” 

Hermione’s face flamed. She grabbed her papers and turned to flee, ignoring the several friends who called her name. It shouldn’t matter, it shouldn’t, not as much as she’d let it. But somehow it did. It mattered so much. 

5th year prefect Anna Ames touched her arm as she passed. “We love you, Hermione. Just… no more changes. Not for this Christmas.” The pleading look in Anna’s eyes was almost the worst thing about this day. 

Across the room was the other worst thing, in the form of a nasty, spiteful smirk on Ginny Weasley’s face. A smirk that plainly said, “May your days be not merry, not bright. And may all your Christmases be shite.”

Reaching the door to the corridor, Hermione broke into a run before anyone could see her cry.

*

Hermione leaned against the fence rail, her back to the cold wind. She’d cast a warming charm, thrown her hood over her head, and walked halfway to Hogsmeade. No reason not to, since 8th years were allowed to come and go mostly as they pleased.

The brisk chill and quietly hissing snowfall cleared her mind. At least, as much as it could be cleared right now. Seven months post-war, things were not going as she had hoped.

Hermione stared at the Shrieking Shack in the distance and wondered inconsequentially if it were truly haunted now that Professor Snape had died there.

The crunch of boots on snow startled her. She whipped her head around, almost expecting to see the black clad form of the Potions Master, a sad winter ghost in the white-laced gloom.

Instead, someone tall and living trudged toward her, pale, handsome, and as unique to her world as any snowflake had a right to be. Though she would never tell him that.

Draco Malfoy grinned at her from beneath his hood. “Feels bad, doesn’t it? Losing, I mean. You aren’t used to it and I suspect it’s a feeling you don’t especially like.” 

She shrugged. “Thanks for standing up for my idea, Malfoy.”

“You could have told me ahead of time what you were planning. We are the only 8th year prefects. Besides, I owed you one for taking me on as NEWTs study partner when no one else would.”

“True. Though neither of those facts gives you the right to tell me how I feel. You can’t know how I feel!” The glare she gave him held little heat.

“Maybe not.” Draco leaned on the fence, eyes on the Shrieking Shack. “But what I do know is that I’ve learned to read people, at least a little. I had to, to survive at the Manor with King Fuckwit the First holding court there last year.” He turned to face her. “I can tell you’re unhappy, Granger.”

In spite of herself, Hermione gazed up at him with interest. “Go on.”

“The war was a shite fest. Especially for our year. Like it or not, I probably understand you better than almost anyone else at Hogwarts right now.”

Hermione stared into the distance. “It was just a small thing,” she said. “But not cutting down the trees this year mattered to me. They should be left as they are. Tall, beautiful, and _alive_.”

To Hermione’s horror, her eyes filled with tears that quickly slid down her cheeks. She was standing in the snow, exchanging confidences with Draco Malfoy— in the same spot where she’d once laughed with Harry and Ron as Malfoy ran from them in fear.

But the true irony was that she had no place else to be.

“It’s almost Christmas,” she blurted. “My parents are still in Australia. They’ll be fine eventually, just… not yet. In the meantime, my home sits dark and empty.” She choked back a sob. “I can’t go to the Burrow this year. When I broke up with Ron, Ginny blamed me for hurting him so soon after Fred’s death. Which is probably true.”

She swiped one gloved hand over her cheeks and glanced up at Draco. What she saw in his eyes startled her. He looked as if he would pull her into his arms and hold her there for a long time, if that were allowed.

Instead, “Here’s an idea,” he said. “Walk into Hogsmeade with me and have hot chocolate. There’s a flask in my pocket. We’ll sneak some liquor into our cups while Madam Puddifoot isn’t watching. Get so damned drunk that none of this will matter to you. If just for this one night.”

He offered her his arm. Hermione decided it would be extremely rude to not take it.

*

Draco woke the next morning with a raging hangover and lovely snatches of memory from the previous night.

He recalled stumbling back to Hogwarts with Granger through the whirling snow. They’d fallen several times, laughed until it hurt, and then made snow angels since they couldn’t get up anyway. Later, they’d stood swaying with the Shrieking Shack in the distance, toasting Snape from the remnants of the flask. Finally back at the castle, they’d made out in an alcove beneath one of the staircases. 

Draco smiled at that particular alcohol-hazed thought, even as his stomach clenched with dread. He’d never been in love before, but he was pretty certain he was now. 

It had been coming on all through the autumn. While he fended off Ophelia Hussey. While he worked as Hermione’s 8th year study partner. While he struggled to shed the cocoon of false truths his parents had wrapped him in, until he began to break free.

What he didn’t know was how Hermione felt about him. There’d been a certain look in her eyes for some weeks now. It seemed to be there last night, in her kisses and in her touch. But was it real or just his hopeful imagination?

Staggering out of bed in search of his hangover potion, Draco decided he had one logical next step based on the information at hand. 

He’d provide Hermione Granger with a Christmas gift that she wouldn’t be expecting. One that would require daring, bravery, and discomfort to obtain, since it could only be found in the Muggle world.

*

_Two Weeks Later…_

_Daring. Bravery. Discomfort._ As he struggled through the second snowfall of the year, Draco realized those words did little to accurately describe what he’d just experienced.

Hell was real. It existed not as some nebulous realm on the other side of the Veil, but in the crowded depths of a Muggle department store. He’d been lucky, very lucky, to escape from it alive.

In fact, his experience had given him an unexpected admiration for Muggles and the fiercely focused way in which they pursued their holiday shopping, turning out for the event in droves, pushing, shoving, and elbowing one another to reach their desired targets. 

Two women had actually fallen to the floor right in front of him, locked in a mad tussle over a doll with pouty lips and pointy breasts. The women had snatched and grabbed until the packaging tore, sending the doll skittering across the tile toward a third shopper, who grabbed it with a victory scream and ran for the checkout counter.

Draco had been standing in the middle of the store, overwhelmed by the whirring, dinging, beeping, and flashing known to Muggles as ‘technology,’ when a pretty girl approached to inquire if he needed help.

“Where are the artificial Christmas trees?” he’d asked.

After pointing him in the right direction, she’d chatted him up, told him he was “bloody adorable” and asked if she could have his number.

Puzzled, he’d thought for a moment. “Twelve, I guess. It sounds festive. And big enough to matter.”

The girl had stomped away, calling him a rude name over her shoulder. 

An hour later, he’d come out into the fresh snowfall pushing a large, flat cart loaded with a bewildering array of items. The tree itself, folded into a box labeled ‘self-lighting.’ A star for the top. An item called an ‘extension cord,’ that sounded like it might be useful for tying someone up from a distance. And finally, a small generator, which the salesman had assured Draco he'd need for making the lights work in a place with no electricity.

Stealthily casting a concealment charm, he’d shrunk the items to fit in his cloak pocket and then found a dark spot for Apparating from hell to home. He needed to stop in at the Manor for one other set of items. Old, valuable and perfect for bribery. 

No better way to show Hermione Granger that she meant something to him than by setting up an artificial, Muggle Christmas tree in the Hogwarts library, instead of the usual live one. Madam Pince had been easily persuaded to allow it, after he’d promised to donate a set of rare books from the Malfoys’ extensive collection.

All he had to do was figure out how to make everything work properly. Draco couldn’t wait to see the look on Hermione’s face when she saw her tree.

*

Hermione could hardly believe the change that had taken place in her holiday season. It had gone from bleak to promising as easily as November had turned into December.

Now she was walking down the corridors of Hogwarts toward the library, hand in hand with Draco Malfoy. They’d been quietly but officially dating for two weeks. As an extra-special surprise, he had a Christmas gift for her and was taking her to see it. 

Books. It had to be books. And where better to receive her present than the place she loved best? Who knew Malfoy would be such a romantic? He’d even arranged for them to go there at midnight, when no one else would be around.

As they came down the last corridor before the turn to the library, Hermione could see a soft glow. Brighter than usual, flickering and dancing along the walls and stone floors.

“Draco?’ she asked. “That light looks odd. What’s going on?”

He smiled proudly. “Be patient a few seconds more, Hermione. It’s your gift. You’ll see.”

“No. Something really is going on. I think I smell smoke!”

“No, it’s just … smoke?” Draco stopped and sniffed the air. “Oh, shit. Oh,shitshitshitbloody _hell._ ” 

Fingers tightening around Hermione’s, Draco ran, pulling her after him as they raced down the corridor and rounded the corner. 

“The library is on fire!” Hermione screamed.

“No, no, fuck no!” Draco shoved open the doors and ran inside. “Just add petrol, the man said. Just add petrol,” he muttered, stomping about and casting dousing charm after dousing charm as the flames flicked greedy fingers toward the shelves.

At his side, Hermione was doing the same. “Do you even understand what petrol is, Malfoy? Petrol is fuel, and fuel makes fire! In what universe do the two belong in a _library_?”

“Probably the same universe where Voldemort is dead and I am the new King Fuckwit. Long live the king,” Draco growled.

Moments later, they stood staring at each other, chests heaving, across the smoldering heap that had been Draco’s artificial tree. 

One library table was scorched, as was a section of rug. But the two of them had contained the fire before it could spread to any of the volumes.

“What… what was it?” Hermione asked, looking at the sad heap of ashes and wire crumpled on the library floor.

“Your special gift. A genuine, not-natural-at-all, artificial Christmas tree. Straight from a store in the Muggle world, _not_ the forests around Hogwarts.”

“I wanted to surprise you.” Draco sank wearily into one of the library chairs. “I even bribed Madame Pince into letting me do this, with a rare, two-volume set of ‘Basque Magic: Its Myths and Mysteries.’” He sounded inconsolable. 

Hermione glanced at the generator tucked near the library wall. “’Just add petrol, the man said?’ We’re lucky the library didn’t explode.” 

She suddenly laughed and sat down on Draco’s lap, twining her arms around his neck. Her eyes sparkled, her face glowed. She was brighter than any holiday light and Draco was enchanted. 

“This…” she waved one hand toward the ruins of the tree, “is the sweetest, loveliest present I could ever have received.” 

“Really?” Draco looked doubtful. 

“Really. The only gift Ron ever gave me was a charm bracelet with all the professional Quidditch team mascots on it.” 

Draco was beginning to feel better. 

“You must have battled a dragon, in the form of a Muggle holiday shopping crowd. I know what those crowds are like! And you did it just for me.” 

“It was hell,” Draco agreed. 

“You purchased an artificial tree, so that a live one wouldn’t have to be sacrificed.” 

“Your wish, my command.” He grinned. 

“And you used bribery, like a true Slytherin, to set it up here in the library. My favorite place.” Hermione sighed happily. 

Her eyes grew soft and serious. “Draco Malfoy, I think I love you.” She raised her lips to his and kissed him for a long, long, lovely time. 

“Hermione Granger, I already know that I love you,” he murmured against her mouth. 

“And _that_ is truly the best Christmas gift I could ever receive. Except, of course, for the memory of, ‘Just add petrol, the man said. Just add petrol’” 

“I’m never living this down, am I?" 

“Nope.” 

She snickered and kissed him again and again. 

FIN


End file.
